


Short Shirts are Good for the Libido

by vamplover82



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Blow Job, Drunkenness, Jealousy, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-13
Updated: 2009-07-13
Packaged: 2017-10-05 11:24:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vamplover82/pseuds/vamplover82
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk shrinks his shirt. McCoy can't help but notice, and neither can anyone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Short Shirts are Good for the Libido

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and con. crit. are much appreciated. Written as a comment fic for [this prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink/4765.html?thread=13774749#t13774749) at [](http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink/profile)[**st_xi_kink**](http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink/).

Jim pulls a shirt down over his head, and when the bottom of the shirt doesn't even hit his navel, he looks down and frowns. Well, shit.

***

McCoy is propped up against the bar near the wall, idly sipping at his drink and keeping an eye on the door. Jim should have been here by now, and it isn't like him to be late. Well, not on drinking nights, anyway. McCoy takes a large mouthful of his drink, which he abruptly spits out when Jim walks through the door. He doesn't even notice the nasty looks he gets from the people around him, some of whom were unfortunate enough to be sprayed with his drink.

McCoy's eyes are locked firmly on Jim's stomach as Jim approaches, and he only manages to lift them once Jim is right next to him. He doesn't say anything, just knocks back the rest of his drink and asks the bartender for another two, one for each of them. They stand in silence while they wait for their drinks, Jim relaxed and eyeing the bar's other patrons, looking for all the world like he doesn't realize that he's wearing what amounts to half a shirt. McCoy can't help it when his eyes slide back down to Jim's stomach.

When his drink comes, McCoy takes a big gulp and works on something to say that's not totally inappropriate. "God Jim, how long was that shirt in the dryer?" It's a valid question, and one that makes Jim look like the idiot McCoy feels like, what with all the staring he's doing.

Jim's smile falls a little and the tips of his ears turn red. "Oh shut up, Bones. Not all of us can do our laundry perfectly every time. Just because you have _way_ more experience at it than I do..."

"Why the hell did you even wear it out of your room, then?"

"It's not like I have that many clothes, so my shirts all happened to be in the same batch. And I sure as fuck wasn't wearing my cadet uniform to a bar. Besides." And now the smile is back to full wattage again. "I look damn good in a short shirt."

McCoy grumbles something incoherent, mostly trying to vaguely discourage that idea. Even though it's completely untrue. The thing is, though, McCoy isn't the only one who's noticed how good Jim looks. On their way to find a table, Jim exchanges words with at least half a dozen people, all of whom are most definitely checking out his stomach. McCoy scowls at each and every one of them.

He thinks it'll be better when they're at a table; Jim's stomach will be hidden, so there won't be any more staring from anyone else. Not to mention that McCoy's eyes won't be tempted to wander then, either. Not that they should be tempted in the first place; it's not like this is the first time he's seen Jim's stomach. Of course, the other times have been in medical situations, so he wouldn't have been focusing on looking, anyway. Now, though, there are no medical issues and somehow, Jim's stomach seems to be even more accentuated since the rest of him is covered up. McCoy ignores this.

Well, he ignores it until he realizes that the only open table is one of those high ones with the tall stools, and this will unfortunately make Jim's bare midriff easily visible to everyone, himself included. Maybe it would be smart to get a buzz on sooner rather than later; it might not help keep him from staring, but it'll at least give him an excuse for it. To that end, he heads back up to the bar for another round.

When McCoy gets back, it's to find a small group of girls clustered around Jim, some of them just eyeing his stomach, and others actually touching it as they talk. He frowns as he thunks Jim's drink down on the table, taking a sip of his own as he gets a good look at the group of girls. They're on the young side; probably not too young for Jim, but it's still not likely he'll try anything with any of them. Somehow, that doesn't make McCoy feel all that much better.

***

Several drinks and a couple of hours later, McCoy is ready to storm out or start punching people. He'd swear that by that point, practically everyone in the bar had come over to have a good ogle, but that would probably be an exaggeration. Still, though, McCoy isn't thrilled. And he gets it, okay? He knows what the petty jealousy and urge to hit people mean. He's attracted to his best friend, which really isn't as scary a thought as he might have expected it to be, and he's pretty sure he couldn't have picked a worse time to realize it. Rather than being able to work his mind around it by himself, or hell, even talk to Jim about it, he has to sit here and watch Jim get felt up by an entire bar full of people.

McCoy slumps sideways, and his head falls onto Jim's shoulder. He hadn't quite realized that he'd moved his chair so close to Jim's, but it's nice, to finally be the one getting his hands on Jim. Jim puts an arm around McCoy's shoulder while McCoy's arm sneaks around that bare waist, and the funny thing is, people actually start to back off. There's no one else touching Jim anymore, and even those who were just talking to him are starting to wander away. Hell, if he'd known all it would take to get rid of everyone was playing the drunk friend, he would have done it a lot earlier.

"Bones?" McCoy thinks that maybe Jim has been trying to get his attention for quite awhile. "You ready to go home?"

"Sure, Jim."

Jim stands and pulls McCoy up with him, supporting his weight, for which McCoy is grateful. He could probably manage on his own, but it'll be easier if he doesn't have to try. They make their way out of the bar and back toward the Academy (which thankfully isn't very far away), and McCoy is pleased to note that Jim doesn't seem to be even the slightest bit disturbed when the hand McCoy has around his waist suddenly starts stroking over the smooth skin there. McCoy just lets his hand do what it wants.

It seems to take both forever and no time at all to get back to McCoy's room, where Jim dumps him rather unceremoniously onto the bed. When he tries and fails to get his boots off, Jim sighs and helps him out. McCoy's lying on his back in silence, arms splayed out, while he watches Jim.

When Jim has tossed both boots to the side and takes a step toward the door, McCoy speaks up. "Don't go, Jim. Want you to stay."

McCoy knows it sounds like a drunken come-on, and it sort of is, but that doesn't mean he doesn't know what he's doing. Jim, it seems, disagrees. "Bones, you're drunk and I'm tired. I'll come back in the morning, if you want."

McCoy sits up, grabbing Jim's hand and pulling him back toward the bed, and Jim moves willingly enough. McCoy is distracted again by Jim's stomach, though, and the urge to run his hands over it is overwhelming. So, he reaches out with the hand not holding Jim's, touching his finger to the skin right where the shirt ends and dragging it down. He circles Jim's belly button a few times, watching in fascination as the muscles there quiver slightly, before moving lower to ruffle through the hair leading straight down into Jim's pants. As his finger grazes the skin just under Jim's waistband, though, Jim pulls back.

"In the morning, Bones. If you still want to...I'll be back in the morning."

With that, Jim practically flees the room, and McCoy flops back onto the bed, curling up and falling asleep almost immediately.

***

When McCoy wakes in the morning, his head feels groggy, but thankfully, he doesn't actually have a hangover. Even so, he doesn't move immediately, trying to get a handle on all the thoughts swirling through his mind. He remembers it all: the shirt, the jealousy, coming on to Jim, Jim promising to come back in the morning. He really doesn't regret the whole coming on to his best friend thing, even though he maybe should. In fact, not only does he not regret it, he really does hope that Jim comes back as he promised.

The image of Jim in that insanely short shirt comes to mind, and McCoy finds himself hard in no time at all. With the flick of a couple buttons, he's got his pants undone and his hand around his cock. He's just working himself up to a good rhythm when his door chimes. The likelihood that it's anyone other than Jim is almost non-existent, so the hell with it, he figures.

"Come in," he calls out, and a second later, Jim is standing in the doorway with surprise showing on his face.

Jim is, fortunately, still wearing his shirt from the night before. McCoy shudders and has to grip himself firmly so as not to come right then. When he's not so close to the edge, he lets go of his dick and sits up, beckoning Jim over. It's probably an unconscious response for Jim to move toward the bed, because he looks confused when McCoy's hands end up resting on his hips and clutching his sides lightly.

"I'm not drunk now," McCoy says quietly, watching as his thumbs trace the waistband of Jim's pants.

Jim shivers lightly. "You sure you want to do this?"

"You sure you like sex as much as you always claim to?" McCoy sounds sarcastic and he knows it, but really, since when has Jim Kirk ever been uncertain about sex?

Jim scoffs. "Of course I do. Just because I want to be really sure about this, us being _best friends_ and all, doesn't mean-" Jim breaks off on a yelp as McCoy leans forward and swirls his tongue around Jim's belly button.

McCoy pulls back and topples them sideways onto the bed, pushing Jim onto his back and straddling his legs. "I never thought I'd be saying this to you, Jim, but don't worry about it so much."

He leans down and makes his way back to Jim's belly button, licking around and in. Jim's hips lift off the bed, and McCoy gets a firm grip on them, holding them down. He pulls back after a few moments, undoing the buttons and zip on Jim's pants, yanking them down quickly. Jim makes a pleased sound when McCoy's tongue finds his stomach again, this time running down right next to his treasure trail until McCoy reaches the head of Jim's cock, which he takes into his mouth.

Jim moans and McCoy takes him further in, setting up a quick rhythm that has Jim reaching down to clutch his shoulder. For as much sex as Jim always seems to have, he comes surprisingly quickly, and McCoy pulls off, stroking him through his orgasm. As soon as Jim pushes his hand away, McCoy has it back on his own dick, and it only takes a handful of strokes before he's coming onto his sheets.

He rolls over and slides up the bed, settling down next to Jim, who's looking at him like maybe he's grown another head. "What?" he asks, sort of self-conscious now that he's actually done this, the whole having sex with his best friend thing.

"Nothing. Just...not what I expected from you."

"Oh? And what did you expect?"

"I don't know, but you never." Jim pauses. "You never seemed interested before."

McCoy isn't sure what to say, really. It's true; he hadn't taken much notice of Jim's looks until the other night. Why, he doesn't know, just has a vague sense that there was some amount of self-preservation involved. Wouldn't be the first time he'd ignored someone's good looks to keep himself from being hurt.

"Easier not to be," he finally says. "But then you had to wear that damn shirt."

Jim smiles at that, and McCoy is glad; a heavy air had sort of been encroaching on their afterglow. "Seriously, though, we're definitely getting you some new shirts before we go anywhere again."

Jim laughs, and McCoy thinks that they'll be okay.


End file.
